The Losanjealous BJM Two-Day Recap

We sent two of our reporters to the Brian Jonestown Massacre two-day stand at little radio warehouse alongside our fan fiction winner, who flew down from San Francisco for the show. All three came back with varied reports. The real story is still out there someplace.

The bouncer/doorman took a fancy to me and gave me and my friend VIP bracelets so I got to sit on the stairs with a perfect view the whole time. I could have talked to Anton a few times, but it seemed a bit cheesy, esp. since his female entourage was standing in line for kisses and I was kind of grossed out about it. So I admired His Crazy Majesty from afar. It was great.

While Bright Channel was on, a couple young dorks arrived and decided people needed to be dancing and moshing. So they dove into the crowd and accidentally kicked my friend in the chest. We were not amused. “Is this the future of rock and roll? Everyone standing around like wax figures?” the dorks asked rhetorically. “Quit jumping my friend!” I yelled. Later on in the evening, Anton made fun of these guys yelling “rock and roll” over and over again. He mocked them and said something about how they must watch “Jackass” a lot.

I was tired of it and went to get a drink at the bar. That’s when my surreal night got more surreal. The gangster/David Lynch bouncer in a suit David (Dave, dave? –ed) bought me a drink and told me to call him in 15 minutes, at which time he’d magically produce VIP bracelets for my friend and me. I just had to meet him at the stairs. I came back and told her about it and she asked “How do you disappear for drinks and come back with VIP bracelets?” “I dunno. He said he liked my smile!”

So we’re sitting in our (relatively speaking) cush seats on the stairs, with perfect views of Anton facing our way. Yes!
There was a mini-drama going on around me concerning Frankie’s German girlfriend and some groupie who he supposedly recently had sex with who was by the stage in a blue hat (and looking very 80’s). Both of these women were fighting and bickering the entire time (and I had a bird’s eye view and could hear most of the priceless dialogue). Helga, I think her name was, complained to my friend about this woman, while Helga’s friend Bettina wanted to trade my cigarettes for a swig of her Jim Beam.

Helga’s and the woman in the hat’s friends had to keep breaking up potential fights (they both disappeared for a while, so maybe they took it outside). Basically, the German girlfriend did not like that the groupie was by the stage near her man. At one point, she called out to Frankie and asked “Who’s the bigger poseur? Her or me?!” He looked desperate to have them stop so he could continue playing, chewing his nails like he was nervous. Helga kept taking pictures of Frankie. It was as if the more pics she had of him, the more he would be hers.

The groupie later yelled “Frankie, your girlfriend’s a fucking bitch!” It was then that Anton went “meow, meow, meow, meow” into the mike. The keyboard player turned around and went “shush!” and then said “Go get me a greyhound” (cocktail). She drunkenly fished one out of her purse and complied. I didn’t see her for a while…

And as you know, the night ended with some guy hanging from the rafters and then plopping down on the cement. The audience just parted like the Red Sea and watched him drop.

Jeannette: Was the subway ok?

Barbara:Greatest people watching ever, and I’ve lived in NYC and San Francisco! Tweakers, gang-bangers, crackheads, and teenage punks. We spent our last couple stops to Union Station being stared at by the one white guy on the train. He was standing over us, just staring. Super-creepy.

Jeannette: Did you catch a cab?

Barbara:Yup. I hailed one like a New Yorker, just in time to avoid some man who seemed to be running toward us for no apparent reason.

Jeannette: Any crackheads bother you on the way into/ out of the club? I got accosted by four of them in the two-block walk from my car to the club the first night..

Barbara: No crackhead encounters.

I forgot to mention that during the 3+ hour jam session, a couple fashionable looking chickies were out cold in the VIP room. I’ve never seen this at a concert before: people sleeping!

Also, next to the groupie who wouldn’t shut up was a man (her friend) in a suit who was playing “second tambourine”, and badly. Dave kept coming by and pulling the tambourine out of his hand, and the boys in the band explained: “if you can’t keep time, quit playing!”

It may not seem like much of an addition, but when you put all that together (groupie and girlfriend fighting, poseurs sleeping, man in a suit compelled to play second tambourine off-stage, and skull- cracking nimrod…well, in the words of the dorks: “Rock and roll! rock and roll!”

All in all, the BJM night of my dreams. :) They did not disappoint.

Friday night. I got there late (11:00 pm) and thought I might have missed a bit of the show since they were supposed to go on at 10:30. Anyway, they didn’t hit the stage til around 11:30 so I was cool. Other than the fact that they didn’t make a set list and they didn’t rehearse my favorite song (Wisdom) so they couldn’t play it… and they were taking requests so it took 5 minutes between each song to decide what the next song was going to be, it was an amazing show. I was going to go as someone’s plus one the next night and the show seemed pretty uneventful so at 2:30 am when they were still playing, I was getting really tired. The bar was out of liquor (and closed after 2:00) and a lot of the crowd had cleared out. I thought, hmmm…. I’m just gonna come back tomorrow because I’m wiped out… I can’t BELIEVE they’re still playing!

So, I’m saying bye to Ivory and doing a shot of Jagermeister with some dude and about to take off when I notice this guy up in the balcony testing his weight on the water pipes on the ceiling (oh don’t even think about it you retard.. i was thinking). Up until this point I was watching him because he seemed completely whacked out and he kept rubbing his crotch in like homoerotic ecstasy while watching the band and dancing around like Axl Rose. When he jumped off the balcony and grabbed a beam and started walking across the ceiling with his hands I had to whip out my camera and run accross the floor to try and grab a snapshot. About 2 seconds after I snapped the photo, the fucker dropped almost 20 feet to the floor thinking that the (by now pretty sparse) crowd was going to catch him.

Needless to say, they parted like the Red Sea and this freako cracked his head but GOOD on the floor. Four Bouncers then carried him out and threw him out of the club and ended the show. NO ONE in the band saw this (weird) and Little Radio pulled the plug on the show immediately after. On the way out to the car, I saw the crotch-rubbing beam swinger limping off to the car parked behind mine. At this point he seemed completely sober and was whimpering to his friends who were trying to put him in a car. His back was killing him and he was having problems bending to get in the car. What a douchebag.

Jesus Christ. I was so fucked up. How old am I again? Here’s my review of Saturday’s show:

1. I fortified myself with a massive intake of alcohol, expecting anton to be as grumpy as he was last time when he had no voice. The combination of a non-grumpy Anton and a completely loaded me made for a considerably calm experience.

2. We met Dave and he let us into the balcony to watch the band from the loft, literally above the band.

3. At one point Jeannette stood up to do something and someone (Frankie? Plucky?) smirked and shot off, “This isn’t a bathroom break.”

4. I went to get us beers and tripped on a carpet near my beanbag chair and very nearly laid myself out flat on the stage. Giggles erupted from self and the loft perimeter.

5. We left early, at 2:45am. Allegedly they played until 4am. Come to think of it I’ve never finished a BJM show. They play so goddam long. You gotta love that. Although apparently we didn’t love that.

6. I lost my phone, which never, ever happens. This, the verysame phone I bought three weeks prior. We thought it might be in Jeannette’s car. “Here, I’ll call your number and we’ll listen for the ring.” “That won’t work, it’s on vibrate. But try it anyway, maybe we’ll hear it.” We try it. “Shush, shush now.” I realize the buzzing in my head is considerably louder than the phone could ever hope to be. Operation futile. This plan is puny.The next day. Sunday. $325 and unhappy later I’ve a new phone. I want to find the old one. I suspect it is in Jeannette’s car yet nonetheless I instigate an email-and-voicemail harassment campaign of the little radio warehouse. I finally drive down to the warehouse and rap on the door. Some nice chaps Amber and Jimmy let me in. There’s a black phone just like mine but it’s Dave’s. I ruffle through the beanbag chairs and find jackshit. They give me a poster for the BJM show as phone consolation. I’m walking out and I feel a vibration on my leg. It’s the $325 phone. It’s Jeannette. “Guess what I just found. Wedged into the cupholder area.”

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